The heart of the Wise was beating Sweet, sweet, in our hearts that day: And many a thought came fleeting And fancies solemn and gay. We were grave in our way divining How childhood was taking wings, And the wonder world was shining With vast eternal things. The solemn twilight fluttered Like the plumes of seraphim, And we felt what things were uttered In the sunset voice of Him. We lingered long, for dearer Than home were the mountain places Where God from the stars dropt nearer Our pale, dreamy faces. Our very hearts from beating We stilled in awed delight, For spirit and children were meeting In the purple, ample night. A SUMMER NIGHT Her mist of primroses within her breast Twilight hath folded up, and o'er the west, Seeking remoter valleys long hath gone, Not yet hath come her sister of the dawn. Silence and coolness now the earth enfold, Jewels of glittering green, long mists of gold, Hazes of nebulous silver veil the height, And shake in tremors through the shadowy night. Heard through the stillness, as in whispered words, The wandering God-guided wings of birds Ruffle the dark. The little lives that lie Deep hid in grass join in a long-drawn sigh More softly still; and unheard through the blue The falling of innumerable dew, Lifts with grey fingers all the leaves that lay Burned in the heat of the consuming day. The lawns and lakes lie in this night of love, Admitted to the majesty above. Earth with the starry company hath part; The waters hold all heaven within their heart, And glimmer o'er with wave-lips everywhere Lifted to meet the angel lips of air. The many homes of men shine near and far, Peace-laden as the tender evening star, The late home-coming folk anticipate Their rest beyond the passing of the gate, And tread with sleep-filled hearts and drowsy feet. Oh, far away and wonderful and sweet All this, all this. But far too many things Obscuring, as a cloud of seraph wings Blinding the seeker for the Lord behind, I fall away in weariness of mind. And think how far apart are I and you, Beloved, from those spirit children who Felt but one single Being long ago, Whispering in gentleness and leaning low Out of its majesty, as child to child. I think upon it all with heart grown wild. Hearing no voice, howe'er my spirit broods, No whisper from the dense infinitudes, This world of myriad things whose distance awes. Ah me; how innocent our childhood was!
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